Everyone Farts

Okay, I might lose a few of you on this one.  This is definitely not one of my  "Page Three" stories, but please just "bare" with me.

Many of you may know of the children's book, "Everyone Poops", by Taro Gomi.  I would like to write a companion addition (adult version) called, "Everyone Farts."

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Everyone farts. 

You can deny it, if you want, but everyone does, and one thing I realized recently, is that the sound of my farts is directly related to the size of my ass.  My ass has been a little bit bigger than I would like it to be, lately, so when I let one loose the other day, I said to myself,

                   "What the HELL was that?" 

It was much lower in pitch and more muffled sounding than what I was used to.  Fortunately, I was in the privacy of my own bedroom, yet here I am, sharing my story with the world - my blog world, which so far, consists of 14 people.  After this story, I may be down to "none".   

But, why NOT share this story?  Afterall, everyone farts!

Sometimes my dog runs away from his farts.  I'll hear a little "toot" sound, and his head turns around so fast,  as if he is asking the same question that I asked -

                           "What the HELL was that?" 

Then, he starts to run away, as if he is being physically chased by his own fart.

And if my ass sounds differently now, than what it used to, just imagine what really BIG asses must sound like.  I suppose I could compare the sounds to musical instruments in a band (my musician parents will kill me).  A really BIG ass fart (I imagine) would sound a lot like a tuba, whereas a tiny, little, skinny ass fart (I imagine), might sound more like a piccolo.

My ass, the other day, sounded more like a trumpet, whereas it once sounded more like a clarinet. 
Funny that I used to play the clarinet in band. 

Anyhow, there was not much melody involved in the fart, but I wonder how Simon Cowell, from American Idol, would have commented? Randy might have said it was "pitchy".

Can you imagine if we had a reality television show called, "America's (Farting) Idol" or "America's Got...............Farts"???  The first televised farting competition.  Afterall, a friend of mine mentioned that she has "talking" farts.  Now, that's talent, for you!  HELL, it can't be any worse than that "Jersey Shore" show, and from what I hear, they would probably smell about the same!


Can you imagine what it would sound like if everyone farted at the same time?  If all of our ass sizes represent the different musical instruments, we would have an entire symphony of farts! 

Some people don't like to use the word "fart".  It is one of those taboo words that they like to disguise.  I asked a few of my friends to share with me their favorite word substitutes or phrases for "fart".

So, to wrap this story up, I will leave you with a little rhyme.
It goes something like this:


Everyone farts.
You can deny it, if you want, but everyone does.

You can call it something else, like a poot, or a toot,
a fizzle, or a niff; a puffle, or a puk.

Who stepped on a duck? Who shot a bunny?
Who cut the cheese? Who let a stinky?"

Let one go, let one fly, let one blow, let one loose,
Pass gas, break wind,cropduster - clear the room!

Foofie,shat;
Scheet, shart;
Call     it     what     you     want.

Any way you say it..........
              it still comes out a fart!


the END !!!

(photo credit - Leslie Morrissette)

Page Three Girl

I was trying to explain my blog to someone recently, searching around for the right words, when she said,               
              "Just like your 'Page Three' stories!"
         
              "Yes!" I exclaimed.  I was thrilled to find out that she had read them.

From 2006 - 2009, I had the unique pleasure of seeing my (sometimes sweet, sometimes witty) stories about every day moments and observations, published in the "Page Three" section of The Washington Post newspaper.

I had thought about actually naming my blog "Page Three", but of course, that title does not belong to me.  It belongs to the editor of The Washington Post, who created it, and afterall, I was only one of MANY writers who had the honor of being chosen to fill that spot.

Interestingly enough, it was brought to my attention recently, that "Page Three" might not have been the best name for my blog..........for other reasons, as well.

Apparently, The Sun, a British tabloid newspaper features a "topless or nude photograph of a female glamour model."  Because these photos are published on the newspaper's third page, these models are referred to as "Page Three Girls".   (Wikipedia.org)

Huh!        

So, while I am proud of my "Page Three" nickname that some of my friends have referred to me as, it is safe to say that you will never see nude photos of me on "Page Three" OR on my blog, and believe me when I tell you, that should be a HUGE relief to you all.  I have, however, posted (above, right) the most SEXY photo of me that I could find.  Please try not to get overly excited.   

In the meantime, my blog containing "Page Three" - like stories will continue to be called "Becoming Me - Upside Down".  That may just be temporary, however, because I am searching for a new title - one that more closely defines my blog.

If you can think of anything, let me know!  Then, I will have to figure out how to change my title without losing my followers. 

Huh. 

Carwash

I took the car to the carwash this morning.  I went to one of those places where you get out of the car, and trustingly hand it over to the nice carwash attendent.  That is an odd feeling, sometimes - just handing over the keys to a complete stranger.  While I realize the car can't really GO anywhere ( IN one side, and OUT the other ), the kids and I spend so much time in that car, that sometimes I feel like it is an extra appendage that I am not ready to let go of, BUT the car was really dirty, and I was admittedly too lazy to wash the car myself, so I handed over the keys, and proceeded to (what I like to call)  "The Viewing Room".

Unlike "The Viewing Room" that you may be thinking of (possible casket with dead person), this "Viewing Room"  is a long, window filled hallway that allows you to view your car as it proceeds through the carwash.  Funny, but standing there watching my car today, reminded me of when my children were in preschool. 

For those first couple of weeks, when I would drop them off at their classroom, there was that combined feeling of relief and concern.  My middle son, especially, always looked so sad when I walked away and LEFT him for 2 1/2 hours, but I would always tell myself, 

"He knows that I love him.  He knows that I love him."

............and walk away.

I would always come back just a little bit early and stand outside his classroom door.  I would peek through the corner of the narrow, rectangular shaped window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he looked like in the world, without me.

While my car did not look sad after I handed it over to the carwash attendant, nor was there any interaction going on (that I know of), somehow there was comfort in the fact that I was able to keep a watchful eye on it. 

After being hosed down, shampooed up, rinsed off, vacuumed out, and wiped down, my car and I were reunited.  Together, we drove off to go pick up the kids, who are no longer in preschool.  They are now teenagers, and instead of looking sad when I walk away from them, they are now walking (as fast as they can) away from me, but that's okay.  I just tell myself,

"I know that they love me.  I know that they love me."

............and I let them walk away.

Afterall, I can always view them through the window.   

Fungus

So, my son walks in this morning, half awake, and mumbles,

                   " I need to go get some fungus."

I thought he was sleepwalking..........dreaming...............somewhere between asleep and awake.

                  "I need to go get some fungus," he mumbles again, "and I need a knife."

Like an unexpected alien that had just walked into the room, I am not quite sure what to do with this statement, so I just stand there, confused. 
Keep in mind that I am not quite awake, myself, and there is the possibility that ONE of us is dreaming. 

He pulls open the drawer that contains the knives, and begins to rummage through. 

                  "Fungus where, and for what?"  I ask.  Valid question, as I am still not sure about his state of consciousness.

                   "Out by the tree stump," he said, "I need it for Science class," he responds (in such a way that I should have KNOWN what he was talking about, all along). 

And the light finally goes on.  "BING!" 

I realize he is referring to the giant mushrooms that sometimes grow around the tree stump in the back yard.  I had recently mowed the grass, and had to maneuver around them.  I tried to mow OVER them, but after the lawn mower choked and gagged over the pieces, I decided to just let the mushrooms be.

Now that the "pieces" to the riddle have all come together, I can conjure up an appropriate response.      
Not knowing if it's the truth, I tell him, 

                   "You won't need a knife.  They should just pull right up." 

Out the door he went, in search of his mushrooms.  Shortly thereafter, he came walking back in with a bag full of very authentic looking.............. fungus.       

Standing there in my kitchen, in my house, in the middle of the suburbs, I say to myself,

                  "Another day; another adventure."    


(photo credit - Leslie Morrissette)
     

"Mixed Up Identity"

Recently, I attended my son's first lacrosse game.  With the helmets and the pads, most of the players on the field look the same, and I realized I did not know his jersy number.  Using my "investigative skills", I narrowed it down, and was convinced that he was #25.  My daughter, who was with me, supported this theory.  I took lots, and lots of photos of #25, but guess what?  After the game, we discovered he was #28.  Once again, no "mom points".

This incident reminded me of a trip to the beach not too long ago.

Last year, I was staying at a house in the Outer Banks with a group of friends.  Two in the group decided to take surfing lessons.  I chose to watch.

"I will bring my camera and take lots of photos," I told them. 

The plan was to meet them on the beach near the surf shop.  So, with my camera strapped over one shoulder, and my bare feet, I headed out on my journey.  I figured I would just walk until I spotted some "beginner-looking" surfers.

 I was enjoying my walk, taking in all of the wonderful sights, sounds, and smells of the ocean - I was lost in my surroundings.  So lost, in fact, that I suddenly realized I had been walking for quite some time.  I stopped and asked someone if they knew my vicinity to the surf shop.  Like a bird flapping it's right wing before taking flight ( "Oh, this isn't good," I thought ), she waived her arm in the opposite direction.  It was at least a thirty minute walk, back where I had come from.

"Wow!  Had I really walked that far?"  I wondered.

I turned around and continued (backtracking) on my journey.  This time, I did not allow myself to get  distracted, and walked until I finally spotted three surfers.  They were pretty far out, and even with my zoom lense, it was hard to identify them as my friends.  Using my "investigative skills" (once again), I observed closely, gathering information, until I was convinced.  The number of people was correct - there were three surfers (my two friends and one instructor), and it appeared that two of the surfers were male, and the one with long hair was a female.  The pieces were coming together.  I decided it was them, and began to shoot pictures.

I stood there for a good twenty minutes doing so, and as I began to feel the heat of the sun beating down on my shoulders, the surfers began to emerge from the ocean.  As they walked closer to the beach, the one with the long hair flipped her long, wet, tresses back in such a way, that a reality hit me like the water from the surf slapping me in the face - "She" was definitely a "dude", and these surfers were not the friends I was looking for.  Cool as can be (and not embarrased, one bit), I casually pivoted around on one foot, and began "strolling" in the opposite direction.

Later, back at the beach house.........................

"I took some great surfing pictures!" I told my surfer friends.  "It's just too bad I didn't know who they were!" 

Needless to say, we had a good laugh.  It turns out, my friends had gone surfing way north of where I was -even farther north than where I walked before turning around.

As for my son and his lacrosse, I attended his next game, and took lots and lots of pictures of #28.


(photo credit - Leslie Morrissette)

Trees Grow from Mayonnaise

A very good friend of mine is always coming up with the latest this, and the latest that.  He will usually preface it by saying,

          "THEY say..............." 

I tease him about it all the time, asking,

          "Who are THEY?"

Personally, I think  THEY are the tiny, minuscule, little "people" living inside your computer, gathering information, and posting it on the Internet.  I believe that for every thought that you have, these "people" will gather up (or make up) information in support of your theory, no matter how ridiculous it is.  Want to prove that dogs can talk, the earth is not really round, and the sky is the color "Atomic Tangerine"?  I'll bet you can find something on the Internet to back it up.  Those little people are hard at work, 24/7. 

While I would love to write more on this subject, I need to go search the Internet.  The last conversation I had with my friend, I told him that I would find proof that "trees grow from mayonnaise".  Oh, and, in case you were wondering, "Atomic Tangerine" really is a color.  I looked it up on the Internet (Wikipedia.org).  It is Crayola crayon color #6 (formerly known as "Ultra Yellow").  Seems Prince is not the only one with a former name. 

Now, back to my task.  "Trees grow from mayo, trees grow from mayo, trees grow from mayo..................."


(photo credit - Leslie Morrissette)

Lying On My Yoga Mat

Just back from my yoga class, taught by a good friend of mine.  She and I had recently reconnected on facebook, and the timing was perfect.  I was looking for a yoga class to sign up for, and she was getting ready to start teaching a new session.

So far, I love her class, and just as she said it would be, the class consists of a wonderful group of ladies.  There is one in particular, who seems familiar to me.  The more that I am around her, the more I think I know her from somewhere.  So, at the end of the class, when we are supposed to be relaxing and letting our thoughts "go", my thoughts are go"ing" through all of the memory pages in my brain, trying to identify where I might know her from.       

After talking to a few of the ladies after class, it seems I was not the only one having random thoughts during yoga.  I mentioned I should start a blog or facebook page about what people are REALLY thinking during yoga class:

"Did I lock the door before I left?"

"What should I make for dinner tonight?"

"I hope the dog isn't tearing up the house while I'm lying here."

"I really have to pee."

"Don't think.  Don't think.  Don't think.  Don't think." 

As it turns out, my feeling of familiarity is mutual, but damned if either of us can figure out from where.  Maybe by the next class, we will have the mystery solved.  If not,  you can guess what I will be thinking about AGAIN next week, lying on my yoga mat.


(photo credit - Leslie Morrissette)

Today I Messed Up

Today I messed up. 

I forgot to bring my youngest son's trumpet to school (after he forgot it). 

I did, however...............

Stand at his classroom door first thing this morning, and collect flowers from his classmates to present to his teacher.
I helped my older son make his lunch, drove him to school, picked him up from school, and took him to his orthodontist appointment. 
I bravely said good-bye to my sixteen year-old daughter, as she drove herself to school for the second week in a row.
I made the bed.
I sent e-mails out to parents at school. 
I nailed down a new insurance policy for the car. 
I "kindly" declined two offers for home improvements. 
I said hello to my neighbor.
I ran up to school to pick up my youngest son (after the bus had a minor accident).  
I cooked dinner and cleaned up the kitchen before the tutor arrived.
I did a load of laundry, and paid a few bills. 
I made sure the dog was fed, let him outside when he needed to go, and played with him when there was noone else to play with.
I listened as my youngest told me that his soccer coach was pleased with his performance, and I sat with him as he showed me what he wanted for his birthday.
I listened as my older son told me about being moved to a different position on the lacrosse team, and I asked him how he felt about that. 
I listened as my daughter gave me the news about being recommended for advanced English, and about her thoughts about next year's classes. 
I had good phone conversations with friends who are important to me. 
I met two new people.
I reconnected with a friend from the past on facebook.
I danced a little.
I sang a little.
I laughed a little.
I both gave and received a hug. 
I spent some time writing.        


Today I messed up. 

I forgot to bring my son's trumpet to school (after he forgot it). 

When I realized I forgot, I called the school to see if it was too late.  Band class was already halfway over. 

"I guess I won't get any 'mom points' today," I told the voice on the phone. 

"We all have days like that," she said.  "We do the best we can."


(photo credit - Leslie Morrissette)

The Forgetful Shower

Ever take an entire shower, turn the water off, and realize you have no idea what or even IF you washed anything?  So, you run through your mind, going through the entire process like a check list? 

1)  Did I use soap?
2)  Did I use shampoo?
3)  Did I use conditioner?

When that does not help, you run your fingers through your hair, to see if it feels like it has been conditioned.  But, even if it does, you still question whether or not you conditioned it, because by now you don't trust your mind at all! 

So, what do you do?  You go through the entire process all over again (or for the very first time, depending on whether you did and forgot, or just plain forgot), wondering the entire time,

"What the hell was I doing, standing in the shower for ten minutes??????"

"Cock & Bowl"

Ate at a WONDERFUL little restaurant in Occoquan last night called "Cock & Bowl".  Recently opened by Michael and Jacquie, a young couple who spent a good amount of time traveling through Europe, and had a vision of one day opening up their very own restaurant with just that name,  it was cozy, inviting, refreshing, flavorful, enjoyable, and for the time that I was there,yes, I felt as if I were sitting in a little Bistro somewhere in the Benelux Region (Belgium, Netherlands, Luxemburg) of Europe.

It was a beautiful night, and while the desire was to sit outside on the charming little brick patio, accompanied by an accordian player, the tables were all full.  Michael suggested that my friend and I start out in the "Beer Cafe" while we waited, and personaly escorted us to our table. 

The "Beer Cafe" consisted of 5 little tables situated just inside the front doorway, and it was indeed where all of the beers were kept - 30+ different varieties of Belgian beers displayed in a clear glass refrigerator.   As we sat at our two person, cozy little table, we ordered  a nice, cold, golden, Belgian beer that was served up in a glass, but presented with the bottle.  Very quickly, our hunger took over, and we decided to forgo the wait to sit outdoors, and enjoy our meals in the charmingly decorated room where we were. 

We started out with an order of Belgian Pommes Frites (french fries), golden, HOT, and crispy on the outside, with a side of mayo.  Something about eating them as "frites" and with a side of mayo made them seem much more appealing.  They were quite satisfying and good.

For dinner, we both ordered the steamed mussels, as that is their specialty.  They serve them up in a bowl, six different ways.  Mine were resting in a white wine, lemon, butter sauce, along with sweet shallots and parsley, or would you rather them like my friend ordered,  in a creamy broth filled medley of tomatoes, anisette, and fennel?   Both orders served with a side of pull-apart bread in which to soak up the wonderfully fragrant and flavorful sauces.  The mussels were ..................delectable. 

Though we were tempted to try the Belgian waffles for dessert (we will save it for another time), the scoop of vanilla ice cream drizzled with homeade strawberry sauce caught my eye, and by request, they served it with a side of their homeade pecan brittle.  Yum.  Neither the strawberry sauce, nor the brittle were overly sweetened, so you could taste and appreciate their natural ingredients. 

The entire meal?  DELICIOUS.

It was a pleasure eating at "Cock & Bowl" last night.  Not only for the WONDERFUL food, but it is so satisfying to see someone as charming and passionate as Jacquie and Michael, be able to turn a vision into a reality.  We were greeted with warmth and personality, fed a mouth-watering meal, using only fresh ingredients, and when we were done, like visiting family or close friends, we did not want to leave.

We will definitely be back to visit Jacquie and Michael at "Cock & Bowl", and "kudos" to Chef Bryan, as well.  It is apparent that the owners and the chef all share the same vision of what they want the restaurant to be, and together, I believe, they will do quite well.  I could not be happier for them.   


http://www.cockandbowl.com/